


trust me i can take you there

by akingnotaprincess



Series: MMoM [66]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Martin, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Father/Son Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Martin Whitly Loves Malcolm Bright, Martin Whitly is a Good Dom, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Parent/Child Incest, Phone Sex, Safewords, Self-Esteem Issues, Sub Malcolm Bright, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/pseuds/akingnotaprincess
Summary: "It seems to me that what you need is to relax. Let Daddy make you feel better."
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Series: MMoM [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/456664
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93
Collections: Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	trust me i can take you there

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Prodigal Son trash pile for cheering me on. Join us [here](https://discord.gg/HrM4QDn).
> 
> Thanks to Sage for the prompt and helping me figure out Martin's voice.
> 
> Thanks to Spoon for helping me on BDSM etiquette and making Martin the good Dom that he should be.
> 
> Thanks to both Spoon & Sage for making this fic possible with their beta-ing.
> 
> Shouldn't have to be said but I don't condone incest of any kind in real life.

Malcolm's already on his phone watching crime documentaries on YouTube to relax when the call from Claremont Psychiatric comes in. It's late, or at least later than when his father usually calls. He never gets a call past five, and it's almost nine now.

Instant dread floods through his body as he stares at the screen. His mind buzzes with a million possible scenarios for getting a call in the middle of the night. Did something happen to his father? Did he escape? Has he been injured? Is he dead? It's the last one that guts him. Malcolm has already gone through the trauma of constant anxiety wondering if Martin would live or die. He'd rather to never go through that again. 

His hands shake as he touches the glass and answers the phone. "Bright."

"Hello, Malcolm."

He rests the phone on his chest and lets out a deep breath he's been holding. Malcolm takes a moment longer to settle himself down. "Is something wrong?" 

"Why, Malcolm. I have to say that I'm honored that you were worried about me."

"Is something wrong," he asks again. Malcolm needs to know he's alright. He needs to know everything is okay.

There's a long pause-- so long that Malcolm wonders if the call has been disconnected. When he's about to say hello, Martin speaks, "I'm good, my boy. Had a consultation and saved a life. Quite fulfilling. Played with clay. I'm allowed to do that now." He stage whispers, "They want to keep my hands busy." There's another delay before Martin continues, "What's wrong with you? You sound shaken up."

"I'm fine," he lies. "Totally fine. More than fine. Better than fine." He's gesturing with his hands even though his father can't see. "Everything is normal."

Sarcasm seeps through Martin's words, "That sounds  _ very _ convincing. What's going on? Is it about that case?"

"Yeah," he sighs, giving in. "We caught the killer. Well,  _ killers _ ."

"I saw it on the seven o'clock news. Your sister was covering it. I'm very proud of her. She's finally getting the job she deserves. The camera  _ loves _ her." Martin's tone becomes crisp as he switches the topic back to the case. "Husband and wife teams are fairly rare. That's not what your profile was during your last visit."

"I  _ know _ ."

He's been tirelessly working a case with the team for two weeks. Malcolm has been beating himself up because he couldn't get the damn profile right and people were counting on him. Actual  _ lives _ were counting on him. It was JT who figured out that there were two killers, not one. It was a married couple that were targeting young girls walking back home from school or a sports practice by themselves. The team acted quickly to race to the killers' apartment to catch them before there was another little girl gone missing.

"You caught them, didn't you? Played the hero and saved the day and all that?" 

Malcolm rolls his eyes. "If you want to see it like that."  _ You'd be wrong _ , he doesn't say. If he hadn't been so narrow focused they could have ended this sooner.

"I do, oh I do see it like that. The question is  _ why don't you _ ?" His father emphasizes the last three words, making a point to his question. "Do you want to talk about it, my boy?"

"Not particularly."

Martin is silent on the other side of the phone for several moments. When he comes back on, his voice is smooth and darker than before. "It seems to me that what you need is to relax. Let Daddy make you feel better."

Malcolm moans. A switch flips in his brain and he can already feel himself melting just from the words his father uses. "Fuck yes.  _ Please _ ."

"That's good, Malcolm." There's definitely a smile playing across Martin's face. "That's good, my boy. I just want what's best for you. Now, we have some options. One," Martin ticks off, "We can keep this phone call rated G. Two, we can rate it explicit. Either way, I want you to be clay in my hands when it's over. Which would you rather, Malcolm? Any answer is perfectly okay. I promise."

"Is Mr. David there?"

Martin scoffs. "Of course he's not. Mr. David works during the day. The night guard is here. He's new-- doesn't know the rules  _ exactly _ . He's in the hall sleeping, poor thing. We're all alone, my boy. But no need to feel pressured. I just want to help you however I can. So… G for General audiences or X for explicit?"

Malcolm gulps. "Explicit, please."

"Oh, that's so nice to hear. I was hoping you'd give me that option." Macolm hears his father let out a satisfying groan. "Let's get started, shall we? What are you wearing right now?"

"Um…" Malcolm looks down at his clothes. "Just an old shirt from Harvard and…" He hesitates, blushing. "Those black panties you bought me."

"Oh?" Martin is clearly intrigued. "The lace one? The one that accentuates your  _ perfect  _ little ass. The one with the caged back."

Malcolm nods, even though his father can't see it. That's one of his favorite pairs of lingerie. He only has a handful of pairs of feminine underwear, but these feel so smooth against his skin-- like they were a part of him. The cloth rides low on his hips and doesn't look out of the ordinary, but the sides dip low into a V and the top edge of the lingerie ends a few inches below the small of his back. There's an intricate design of ribbons to lift the panties upwards, showing more of his ass. All the ribbons meet at the small of his back forming a neat little bow. Usually they're tucked away in the bottom of his drawer of all the things related to The Surgeon, along with the few other presents that Martin had gifted him over the course of their sexual relationship. Malcolm had dug them out tonight on a whim. He just wanted to feel good.

"You look delicious," Martin practically fucks the word delicious, the way he rolls it off his tongue. "You're the perfect image of a collegiate. Where are you? Should I be concerned over the privacy of this phone call?"

"No," Malcolm responds firmly. "I'm at home. Alone."

"That's good. Just the two of us bonding. Father-son time. Now, I want you to sit on your sofa with your legs apart as best you can," he instructs. "Tell me when you are ready. I'll be right here."

In one smooth movement Malcolm stands to full height and grabs his phone on the way up. His bare feet pad across the cold floor to his set of couches on the other side of the loft. As he walks he checks his phone out of habit and almost closes out of the call by accident, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't do that. Malcolm sets the phone on one of the cushions after he puts it on speaker. He falls onto the couch with an  _ oof _ . He leans back as much as he can and spreads his legs into a near perfect split, feet still planted on the floor-- years of ballet and yoga come in handy sometimes.

"I'm ready," he wishes he said steadily, but he knows that he sounds unsure. 

"Is something wrong, my boy?" His father's voice is full of concern, more so now than before. He sounds anxious to hear the answer. 

"No," he says. "I just don't want to disappoint."

"Disappoint?" Martin asks, puzzled. "Disappoint who?"

Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut, afraid to admit it even to himself. As if closing his eyelids makes the truth any less real. "I don't want to disappoint  _ you _ ."

"How on earth would you ever disappoint me? Malcolm? _ Please _ ," his father pleads.

"I feel like I've disappointed everyone else," he admits so softly that he hopes that his father didn't hear him. "I don't want to be that to you."

"Malcolm, my boy. You're  _ not _ a disappointment. Do you understand me? You're not. You're  _ my boy _ , and I love you. I want you to feel good. That's all. Daddy wants to help you. Is that alright?"

Malcolm nods his response, and then realizes his mistake. "Yes, it's okay. I'll be okay. I just… I just need you,  _ Daddy _ ."

Martin's low groan penetrates his ears. "Oh my boy. Do you know how much it pleases me to hear you say that?"

Malcolm's brow furrows. "No?"

"No?" Martin replies with mock surprise. "Then let me show you. Are you still on the sofa? Legs spread?"

"Yes," Malcom answers obediently. 

"That's a good boy. Before we start, let's go through the formalities. Safewords?"

"Green for go. Yellow to pause and talk. Red to stop the scene." He's recited the safe words so many times in the past few months. Malcolm understands the importance, though. He's had bad doms in the past who didn't respect safe words (and who were promptly shunned from the BDSM community). He recites them almost out of boredom, but also it's a great comfort and trust. He knows that this dom, his dom, his father, doesn't want to hurt him like that.

"Good. That's good, Malcolm. Listen to everything Daddy tells you to do. Tonight's all about you."

"O--okay," he stammers. "If you say so."

"I do. You're very insecure tonight." There's a pause and Malcolm thinks he can hear the squeak of the mattress springs in his father's room. The noise is different from the wheels of the swivel chair-- the mattress has a definitely bounce to it and with the wheels he can always hear the cringely sound of the concrete floor being rolled over. 

"Oh Malcolm," his father says fondly. "If I was only there with you. Can you imagine that for me, my boy? You have such a beautiful mind, so intelligent. You soak up information like a sponge. You always did. So eager to learn, and you learn it without having it to be explained a second time. Am I there with you, Malcolm?"

Malcolm leans his head back over the back of the couch. He's imagining it now. His father's silhouette in the dim light of his room. He's lying on his cot, face towards the ceiling. Martin speaking loud and clear to him over the phone. He thinks that his father hasn't taken off his pants yet. That his erection isn't quite half-hard. Malcolm envisions Martin wants to palm his clothed cock, but doesn't. He can't come too soon-- especially not before Malcolm does.

"Yes." He's not seeing a hallucination or anything at all. His Daddy's voice is next to him on the couch, and that's enough.

"Close your eyes, my boy."

"They already are."

Martin chuckles softly. "I want you to rake your fingernails up and down your inner thighs. Slowly. Gently. Be a tease."

Malcolm does as he's told. He begins at the bend of his knee and travels up to the hem of the lace panties, then runs his nails back down the path they traveled up. The light sensation makes him shiver and his lips tremble.

"I know it's a sensitive area for you," Martin's voice startles him. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes, Daddy," Malcolm responds. He's lost in the touch. His dick rises with each pass over his thighs. He smashes his lips together to hide his pleasure from his father… and from himself. 

"Malcolm, are you okay? You're quiet."

"I'm okay. It's just a little…" He inhales deeply as he purposely grazes his fingers over the cloth of his panties, almost touching his hardening erection. "Intense."

"Understandable. We haven't done this in some time. I remember you being a little louder the last time. Are you holding back?"

Malcolm swallows. "Yes."

"Please don't," his father requests. "I like to hear what my words do to you."

"Oh  _ God _ ," he whines as he runs his nails up his thigh harder than before. There's a hitch in his breath as his fingers go down at an glacial pace. "Oh  _ Daddy _ ."

"Thank you, my boy. Thank you for not hiding your pleasure from me. Do you want to know what I'd be doing to you if I were there?"

"Yes," Malcolm draws out the word as he scrapes his thighs. "Yes, please. Tell me."

"I'd be on my knees between your thigh, licking and sucking your skin. Marking you as mine. My nails raking along your sensitive thighs leaving red scratches in my wake. My eyes would always be trained on yours. Oh Malcolm, I love your eyes. They're so captivating. It's like staring right into your soul. Your eyes are your biggest tell, my boy. I can always tell when I'm pleasing you-- taking good care of you." Martin hums approvingly, then directs, "Run your fingers from your inner thighs to your nipples. Skip over your cock."

Malcolm whines at the request. He wants to touch his erection. He's hard now, straining against his lacy lingerine and already leaking pre-cum. Malcolm does what his Daddy says and moves up his hip bone, traces the lines of his abdominal muscles, reaching under his thin cotton t-shirt, and finally circles one of his nipples.

"Okay," he says a little breathily. 

"I bet your nipples are hard. It never takes too much to stimulate them." There's a pause, but Malcolm strains to hear what he thinks is his father shifting around to take off his pants. He hears the elastic band whipping back as it's taken off. There's some rustling, and Malcolm imagines that his father has taken his erection out of its confining garments. "Pinch them for me, Malcolm? You know how much I love that. You're so responsive.  _ Fuck _ ," Daddy moans. "Malcolm, you don't know what you do to me, do you?"

"No," he answers truthfully. He's never understood what his father sees in him. How he could care about someone so broken? 

"Malcolm?"

"Yeah?" He takes his nipple in-between his thumb and his forefinger and pinches it as hard as he can tolerate. He hisses in pain, but relishes the feeling. There's tears threatening to spill over. A broken sob escapes his throat and he sniffles.

"Malcolm?" Martin is no longer teasing. He's serious and worried. "Malcolm. I need you to answer. What color?"

Malcolm hesitates for a moment, then guesses, "Yellow? Yeah… Yellow," he somehow manages to come out less shaky. "I'm okay. I swear I'm okay… just… Why do you love me?" he blurts out.."How?"

" _ Oh Malcolm _ ," his father sighs reverently. "I've loved you from the moment you were born. You're the most important thing in my life, and will be until the day I die. I couldn't have asked for a more brilliant son. I love you, my boy. I always will."

Malcolm bucks his hips trying to get some friction between his cock and his underwear. The wet spot of pre-cum is bigger than it was before, and the head of his member rubbing against it feels amazing. He feels desperate, needy, and  _ loved _ .

"You're the only thing I've gotten right. You're perfect in every way, Malcolm. You're worth it. You're worth every second."

"Green," Malcolm whimpers as he thrusts at nothing, and rolls his nipple between his fingers. "Green, Daddy."

Martin groans. His voice is thick and heavy, "Oh Malcolm I think you've been patient enough. Reach down and pull your cock out of those lovely panties."

Malcolm gratefully does what he's told, and whines at the relief to finally have his erection freed. It bounces as he pulls the delicate lace aside, and stands tall.

"What's your cock look like? Tell me."

Malcolm huffs out a laugh. "Same as it looked the last time you saw it."

"Indulge your old man."

"Um…" Malcolm blushes. "It's pink, red at the tip. Two veins jutting out, both on the left side, one above the other. There's a lot of pre-cum leaking out. The head of my cock is covered in it, and my panties are soaked."

"If I were there, my boy, I'd still be kneeled between your legs. I'd take your cock into my mouth. Swallow it whole inch by inch until I'm buried to the hilt." He hears Martin spit and his breath become more rapid. "All of your cock would be rammed down my throat-- hot and tight. I'd have a little trouble breathing at first, but I'd adjust quickly."

A long and needy whine escapes from Malcolm. He bites his lip and turns his head so he can see the cell phone. Malcolm may be the submissive of the two, but that didn't mean that his Daddy didn't like to lose some control every once in a while. His father was such a good cock sucker. It was like his mouth was made for it, but it was a treat, not something to be wasted carelessly. 

"I'd let you fuck my face, let you take some control. You'd dig your hands into my scalp and hold me down. My throat would be convulsing around your cock and I know you love it when I'm at your mercy. I know that you like the pain. I'd stay completely still, let you use my mouth. Let you use  _ me _ ," he stresses. "Your cock would hit the back of my throat every single time. Oh, Malcolm, can you hear the noises I'd make when I gag on your cock? It'll only make you go faster, set a brutal pace. You'd use me like I was nothing but a whore until you came down my throat. You'd make sure my nose would be buried in your pubes. I'd have no choice but to swallow it all down, lick you clean. Can you imagine how many tears I'd have running down my face? Seeing everything you did to me?"

"Oh God," Malcolm gasps. He's humping the air wanting something--  _ anything _ to help the ache in his cock. "Daddy," he whimpers. "Can I touch my cock? Please? It hurts so much."

"Of course, my boy. I can't say no when you ask so pretty." There's heavy breathing on Martin's end and it helps spur Malcolm on. "I'm so close, my boy. So close. Fuck, if you were here I would _wreck_ _you_. You'd be sobbing with joy. I'd fuck you so hard that you'd forget your own name."

Malcolm sobs with relief the moment he wraps a fist around his member and begins to jerk himself off in quick strokes. "Daddy," he repeats over and over. His blue eyes shoot open and his mouth makes the shape of an O as he silently comes. Hot cum splashes on his fingers and stomach. It's thick and there is _ so much _ of it.

"Thank you, Daddy." It comes out raspy, the words stuck in his throat. His mind feels floaty and blank, and it's the feeling he's been chasing all week. Malcolm feels better than he's been in a long time. He doesn't have to think. He's a special kind of high that makes everything feel right.

"Oh my boy, you did such a good job for Daddy. You did so well." His father is breathing heavy, there's a slight pause after every few words. He's orgasming as well. He's made his Daddy come, and Malcolm's spent dick twitches at the thought.

Malcolm sobs with relief at the praise. "Thank you, Daddy.  _ Thank you _ ."

He thinks he hears the springs of Martin's cot again, and the echo of shoes against the floor. It feels like it's been a million years when his father soberly asks, "Malcolm, I need you to tell me how you are doing. Right now, at this moment."

"Okay. More than okay. I'm… great. Spent. Floaty." He giggles like he's drunk. "Words are hard."

"I bet, after all of that. Can you do something for me Malcolm?"

"Yes. Anything." 

"Breathe with me. Like I taught you to do when you were younger with your panic attacks. Breathe in."

Malcolm does.

"And breathe out."

Malcolm does. He repeats as many times as his father wills him to do with his soft, soothing voice. It's calming. His heart feels like it's back to a slow and steady pace.

"Good," his father praises. "You're such a good boy for me, Malcolm. Can you get off the couch, please? I know it'll be a little messy, but go wipe yourself down and put on some clean underwear. Something that will make you feel comfortable. You'll feel better. Trust me. I'll be here when you get back."

Malcolm stands on shaky legs. His thighs have red streaks fading to pink. His legs hurt from sitting in an awkward position for so long. He makes his way to his bathroom and tosses his ruined panties and shirt in the hamper as he walks in. Taking the mauve colored hand towel off its hook, he wets it under the faucet and washes all of the come off of his body. He walks out to the hall closet and fishes out two new hand towels: with one to pat himself dry and one is put on the hook. 

Malcolm chances a look at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are flushed pink. His usual slicked back hair is ruffled and out of place. There might be the beginnings of a bruise around his right nipple that he tortured. He's still breathing heavily even though their activities ended minutes ago.

There's a perfect word to describe how he looks.

_ Wrecked _ .

Malcolm shivers under his own gaze. His father would be so pleased if he could see him now. He shakes it off and slips on a pair of clean boxer briefs from his dresser. He walks back to the sofa, and retrieves his phone, setting it off speaker. He places the phone up to his ear. "I'm back."

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah." He still feels light-headed, but in a good way.

"Can you go to your fridge? Drink some water. Have something with  _ protein _ , not that candy you always eat."

At this point, Malcolm realizes what his father is doing, and it makes him appreciate his Daddy even more. He smiles to himself as he grabs a bottle of water and a couple Perfect Bars and sits at the island.

"I feel really good, Daddy," he tells him in-between bites of chewy peanut butter. 

"I'm glad," Martin warmly conveys. "Oh, I wish I was with you. I could properly take care of you."

"Tell me what you'd do?" 

"Drink some of your water first."

Malcolm smirks as he makes a show of cracking open the plastic lid and taking very audible gulps. "Now tell me?"

"Oh, my boy. I would treat you so well. I'd run you a warm bath and gently wash your body. Taking special attention to your thighs and your chest. I'd wash your hair, make sure that soap didn't run into your beautiful eyes."

He can picture it in his head. In his version, the lights in the bathroom are dimmed instead the small room is lit by low burning candles. The flicker of the flame casts magical shadows on the walls. His Daddy is on his knees beside the tub. He's humming an old lullaby that he'd sing when Malcolm was a young child.

"I'd use a fluffy towel and dry you off from tip to toe, and pick you up with my arms around your back and your legs. I'd carry you to your bed and gently lay you down. Do you want to know what I'd do next, Malcolm?"

"Hmmm. What would you do, Daddy?" Malcolm can feel his eyelids getting heavy.

"I'd worship your body. I'd kiss every inch of you, show you how much you mean to me. After that I'd tuck you into bed, kiss you goodnight, and stay at your side until the morning."

Oh that all sounds so good to him. It sounds wonderful. Malcolm yawns.

"Are you tired, my boy?"

"Guess so." Malcolm thinks his speech sounds a little slurred. "That's a first."

"I take that as a compliment, I suppose. I think it's time for you to go to bed."

Malcolm lazily hums and takes his time getting up and making his way to his bed. His phone is still clutched to his ear as he slips under the soft sheets. He puts the phone on his night stand and presses the button to put the call on speaker. 

"Are you safe?"

The question confuses Malcolm at first, but then it clicks that his father knows about the restraints he wears every night because of his night terrors. "I'm strapping myself in now. You're on speaker."

"That's good. I need you to be safe," Martin speaks so sincerely. 

Malcolm smiles, "Safe is my middle name."

Martin sneers in disbelief. "Really, Malcolm? Such a common joke."

"It amused you though," he answers with a teasing note.

"That it did. Are you restrained?"

Malcolm tightens and locks his handcuffs and relaxes on the bed. "Yes."

"I'll speak to you soon, my boy." Martin promises.

Malcolm yawns again, long and loud. "Good night, Daddy."

"Good night, my boy. Pleasant dreams."


End file.
